


The Bloke in White

by pipingcricket



Category: Cricket - Fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-01
Updated: 2014-01-01
Packaged: 2018-03-07 20:54:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3182834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pipingcricket/pseuds/pipingcricket
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Foreword: This is an old piece of writing I found on my computer and I think it was written back in 2009 for a school English assignment. A friend said she'd give me $10 if I titled it "Tim Paine is the bowler and I'm the ball" but she backed out of her promise just as I was handing it in. However, I'm sure my English teacher would have understood had I kept the more inappropriate title. ;)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Bloke in White

_It was gold, son. Gold I’m telling ya._

I hung onto every word that passed Old Bill’s lips. He was old, Old Bill. Eighty percent of his life had already passed, he told us proudly.

_But how do you know?_

_Cos the bloke in white said so._

All of us wanted to be like Old Bill, with his red-grey skin cracked from spending too much time in the hot Australian sun and the scars he bore from countless battles with the opposition. It was every kid’s dream - including mine. I’d grown up hearing about the masters of the game, although I’d never been lucky enough to go out and play alongside them.

Towards the end of the year, when the grass on the oval started to wither and the sun glinted ferociously through the stained glass windows of St Peter’s, the crowds would come. And they would yell, cheer and scream obscenities and approval alike for days on end. I loved those days, like today, where the atmosphere in the stands was so electrifying, it was almost as if the dry Adelaide breeze had come alive. I imagined myself being walked out onto the field - I could taste the salt of my own sweat, smell the testosterone, almost see the tension as it pulled the air taut. With a sigh I pulled myself out of my fantasy. _Just be patient_ , the old fellers in the block had told us, _be patient and you’ll be given a go, just you wait and see_. But I’d been waiting for years now, while my brother had been selected for the Under 19s side that had played here last summer. He never came back though, my brother. And there were a lot like that who just buggered off after the match and didn’t bother with us lowlifes any more.

The distinctive groan of the heavy wooden door interrupted my thoughts and filled the room with the faraway chatter of an unseen crowd. The restless change room abruptly settled. The ‘bloke in white’ was constantly changing but I recognised the greying wiry hair that was forced under a wide-brimmed hat and the funny accent with the short ‘i’s and ‘e’s. Next to me, my best mate trembled with anticipation. Oh to be chosen! What an honour it would be! T o be the 13th man in the squad and yet do more than carry the drinks.

He scanned our profiles quickly, the crow’s feet scrabbling around in the brown earth as he flicked his eyes up and down the room. When his eyes stopped skimming, they were locked with mine. Old Bill chuckled when he saw who had been selected.

 _Good on you boy, make sure you do us proud ay_.

Calloused hands clapped down on my back and whistles and shouts of encouragement penetrated my ears but I still trembled as the bloke in white led me out of the room. We passed through the doorway and I was taken down a long hall, where portraits and honour boards adorned the walls, displaying names that I had only ever heard about in the wildest of stories. Donald Bradman, Allan Border... However, my amazement was replaced by wondrous disbelief as I was walked out onto the ground, the yelling and cheering of tens of thousands of people raining down upon me from the stands of the massive stadium. I gasped.

_Oi, oi, OI!_

My heart did a triple axel, goose-bumps cloaked my skin and I felt my ego inflate.

_Settle down mate, settle down._

The walk to the middle did not take long and when I arrived I was swamped by eager hands.

 _Dougy! You take this over and I’ll get Sids to take the next_.

The captain spat on his palms and tousled my hair, shouting instructions over his shoulder as he moved into first slip.

A pair of sure hands wrapped themselves around me and I let out an uncharacteristically high-pitched giggle as my nose brushed against the inside of the man’s leg. I felt something stir inside me and the colour rise to my cheeks…

_Right, let’s show these bastards _.__

__Despite the headlock, I nodded vigorously._ _

__I had never felt like this before, the perfect synchronisation of our motions, the beauty at which our movements reflected each other. But I was ferociously jerked back to reality when I slammed into the compressed earth, my skin grating as it skid across the ground and up, up, up towards my adversary. He was merciless and his bat rushed towards me as he danced down the pitch. BANG. With a resounding crack my skull shattered against the resilient willow, my face involuntarily creasing into a pained grimace. The crowd cheered and I flew through the air, a swirling mass of red and white amongst the yellow and green in the stands below me._ _

__I saw him standing there, down on the third man boundary with his outstretched hands. He grew closer and his features more distinct as I propelled myself forwards, willing him to take the catch. Both of our faces lit up in triumph as we made contact. The yellow and green in the crowd roared, but then gasped in horror as my body slipped through his splayed fingers. Jeering came from those clad in red and white. The fieldsman hung his head and pulled up his collar in an attempt to hide the red flush that had begun to creep up his neck. I felt the man’s shame as acutely as he did; I felt sick with embarrassment. As I made my way back to the middle, I could make out a large red dragon hovering above me, engaged in an epic battle with a giant kangaroo._ _

__The game continued. I was smashed away for boundaries, carefully placed in gaps in the field for singles and sometimes I swung manically to the keeper. The pitch wasn’t as hard and fast as I had expected but it stilled offered something for both us and the opposition. There were breakthroughs, words exchanged and blood spilled. I lapped it all up; this is what I was created to do. For the umpteenth time I was grabbed by one of the bowlers who had opened with me, a tall intimidating man who bore down on the batsmen after his follow-through. As he caressed me in his hands, rolling me back and forth, he whispered in my ear._ _

___Aim for the top of off_._ _

__His run-up was fast, faster than anything I had previously experienced. I followed the arc of his arm, swivelled with his wrist and then face-planted into the pitch. I was now accustomed to the stinging pain and, as I soared towards the batsman, I lunged at the bails. My team mates screamed with me as I dislodged my wooden prize from its seat at the top of middle and off._ _

__All at once, I was lifted high to the roaring acknowledgement of the crowd.  
It was over._ _


End file.
